I’m not gonna write a lot about this past weekend. Either you were there and know what went on, or you weren’t there and…you followed the action on Twitter and know what went on. Heck, I was checking Twitter every ten minutes to see who was having more fun that me.

The highlights:

Meeting up with everyone at the MGM and piloting F-Train’s stack in the mixed game (and winning a few tidy pots) before retiring to the bar to drink a few Brobdingnagian Stellas. Seriously, they give you these steroidal 32oz plastic cups and the refills were five bucks apiece. That first beer was a wondrous sight indeed:

I drank a couple of them, getting a bit tipsy, but then we went off to grab a bite of dinner. Here’s the thing…I don’t remember where we went. I know Jason and Rachel were in attendance, but I don’t remember who else was there, and I don’t remember what I ate. And before you start giggling about alcoholic blackouts and whatnot, I wasn’t drunk. I do remember drinking pop with my meal because I didn’t want to get too drunk. But my memory of the meal isn’t there. Weird. I do remember returning to the sports book to chat with Jen Newell and have another beer. But just one. I was at the bar to order another when I decided pouring that much fluid into my system would be a bad idea. I talked to the usual suspects before taking my leave around 3:30am. The monorail had just closed and a maintenance guy told me to jump the turnstiles and race for the last train. I did, and made it just in time.

I met up with Jen again at the Grand Lux for a quick bite before the blogger tournament. I’d eaten an extremely overpriced burger at the Venetian sportsbook about an hour earlier so I contented myself with an appetizer–mashed potato with chives piped into egg roll skins, the skins fried and then baked with cheese and bacon. Oh yeah. Oh HELL yeah:

The highlight of the tournament was actually a lowlight, as I knocked out Linda when I held Aces to her A-Q and the flop came queen high. I never got anything going and got antsy, eventually donking off the last of my stack to Gracie and giving her a belated wedding gift.

Back to the Imperial Palace and the Geisha Bar for much drinking. My eyes were bugging me (my contacts have been acting up) so I put on my glasses before heading back downstairs. And that’s when the other kids started being mean and calling me names like Clark Kent and Alton Brown. Actually if I looked like Alton Brown (or was Alton Brown) I probably wouldn’t be divorced…but I digress.

Of course you know that the IP features Dealertainers–blackjack dealers who dress up like famous (or not-so-famous) celebrities. They had a new one this year–Freddie Mercury from Queen. And he was fantastic. Maybe a bit too gay, but only just a bit. And Freddie found a fan in AlCantHang:

Drink drink drink bed. I again managed to get to my room in the upright position and hastened to the sports book to see the 1PM NFL games. My fantasy team is in the championship game (Dallas Clark, you came through when it counted) and soon the Steelers-Ravens game came on. There were a fair few Baltimorese in the bar saying silly things like how Ben Roethlisberger was afraid of the rush and that Hines Ward doesn’t come through when it counts. They were cheering on their team to run out the clock…when there was eleven minutes to go in the game. I knew it would come down to the bitter end, and that’s exactly what happened. When Holmes caught the TD pass and they showed the first reply I confidently said, “The ball was over the line,” and Iggy turned and said, “From that, you’re sure.” But in the end my faith was justified and the Steelers booked a most satisfying win.

From there everyone went their own way hither and yon. I went back to my room, took a hot shower (I needed a second wind) and then I headed out for a walk. Wandered around Bellagio a bit but it was too crowded to saunter around the conservatory. So I went back and ended up with the gang back at the Geisha Bar. Drank a bit, made $40 playing Pai Gow, and then it was time for bed again. On Monday I checked out, lost $100 playing video poker at the Wynn (was dealt quad Aces, just needed one more Ace for a $400 payday, and bricked) and headed back to the IP to get my bags and head for the airport. Of course you know it snowed in Vegas on Monday and it was sleeting pretty good on the Strip. My cab took the back way out of the IP and there was at least a foot of floodwater under the parking garage. I thought for a bit we weren’t going to make it, and the cabbie said he’d have to remember not to come that way later in the day.

And that was pretty much that. I haven’t even mentioned the fact that Joe Speaker and DP spent the entire goddam weekend in suits. Peacocks. Or that I nearly became the first paid sponsor of the Tao of Pokerati video podcast (I couldn’t find a pen to write “GeneBromberg.com” on the back of a receipt to hold in front of the camera). I’d post the pic of Change100 shooting the video that I took but she’d kill me so I won’t.

Shoulda played more Pai Gow. Shoulda drank a little bit more. Should’ve eaten a little bit less–actually I shouldn’t have had that hamburger at the Palazzo sportsbook and that hamburger at the IP’s Burger Palace. Remove those beef patties from my weekend and I would’ve had a lot more fun. See, it’s such a fine line during these blogger weekends, one little misstep can have cascading repercussions. Still, I had a blast. Now if I could just fall asleep before 5AM Pittsburgh time, that’d be super.

Though I was pulling for the Steelers thousands of miles away on the tundra, that ball was not over the line or it was all be it over the wrong side of the line. Either that or the Rodney King officers were innocent. Whatever the case I am so happy with having completed 1.2 years of compiled challenged call viewing. (In the beginning they promised no commercials during the challenge as if they were bartering carrots. Does anyone remember that?) It is hard to grow old in the north. The seals weep.

What confuses me about the ruling is that they ruled that the BALL crossed the line, which, you’re definitely right, it didn’t, but washington’s feet, therefore his body, was in the endzone at the time he had control of the ball. I always thought this was the rule — as long as you get 2 feet on the ground, you’re good. Look at a pass to the back of the endzone that’s headed out of bounds before a receiver catches it…he catches the ball out of bound, but keeps 2 feet grounded…touchdown. I need officials to be a little clear on this rule.